


Exit Signs I missed

by ntlpurpolia



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Kissing, M/M, also on ff.net, as in endgame Julian/Emma, chapter titles taken from drive by halsey, endgame blackstairs though, not emmark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntlpurpolia/pseuds/ntlpurpolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was funny, really, how it was only now that Emma had broken things off with Julian that she realized how much she’d missed him when he was in England, or New York, how much she loved him, in the all-encompassing way that one loved their parabatai, but also more than that, in the way that Julian was like half the strands in a tapestry that would unravel if he was pulled out.” Blackstairs. Right after Lady Midnight. Huge spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exit Signs I Missed

**Author's Note:**

> So... My first Blackstairs fic, written for my feels to stop killing me. Also on ff.net Kudos and comments much appreciated!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma thinks. Julian thinks. Everyone thinks.

  
_Why lie?_ Mark had asked her. Why lie, really, about dating Mark when she could just date him, Julian’s brother, the chink in Jules’s armour, the broken faerie boy, with all the wildness of the Hunt in his eyes that gleamed, sometimes, in hers too?

Why lie, why not act as if it was so effortless to create an insurmountable rift between her and Julian, to burn to ashes their love until all that would be left was philia and agape, not eros, not the love that would tear them to pieces? Why only pretend to hurt Jules so irreparably when she could do it for real, to save both their lives from a horrible fate? Why create such an impossible fabrication that would tear at the fabric of her soul, the very foundation of her relationship with Julian, when she could simply do it for real, dig out her heart and stomp on it herself, and then give it to Mark as if a relationship with him would ever even come close to one with Julian?

She thought back to being on the motorcycle with Mark, the flying feeling, the understanding of _I wouldn't leave the Hunt that easy either if there was the whole world to see from this high up_. The wild feeling that rose in her sometimes and demanded to be addressed, sated by a run on the beach or a demon hunt or a routine patrol turned dangerous.

But then she thought of Julian, even before he had been Julian, when he had been Jules, playing in the sand with her, the two of them getting their Voyance runes together, training together, years of words written on skin, sentences drawn by fingers, deciding to be _parabatai_ , knowing that if anyone was forever, it was _Emma-and-Jules_. It was a Herculean task to think of her life and not think of Julian, not think of _I don't live if you die._

Emma thought back to the time when Mark had just come back to L.A., and was disoriented and angry, Cristina the only one who could calm him down, and she had thought even then, even with Mark as broken as he was, that Julian did not deserve to be hurt by him, not even the brother he loved so much, had missed so much.

“You don't need to know,” she said levelly, calmly, coldly.

Mark held up both hands, a human gesture, one that contrasted with the faerie-ness of him that had shone through only moments before, with all the beautiful cruelty of the faeries. “All right,” he said. “When do you want us to start lying?”

:::

Seeing Mark with Emma felt wrong to Julian, the very sight of their relationship coated in wrongness as his hands were in turpentine.

Every time Mark talked to Emma, touched Emma’s blonde, impossible-to-paint-even-with-gold-leaf hair, traced over her skin with the scars of old Marks that he knew glimmered silvery in the starlight, a frisson of _wrongness_ surged through him. It wasn't simply jealousy, for this brother that he loved so much, this brother that all of his children loved so much -apparently _Emma_ loved so much- but it felt as if… As if he were painting a picture of the beach, with all of the right outlines but all the wrong colours, blue-green where the sand was, and golden-brown where the ocean lapped over it. Wrong.

It wasn't just that, though. Julian was the master of deception, had been lying so much that perhaps his idea of love was deceive, to protect by hiding the truth, burying it. So he knew when someone was lying to him, and… Mark and Emma’s relationship didn't simply seem to be full of wrongness, but it gave off also an air of falseness. It seemed far too much like a perfect storm that he had said to Emma, _If you and Mark ever… I don't think I could come back from that._ And then she had gone and said she was falling in love with Mark.

It hurt.

:::

Nowadays, it seemed that when Julian wasn't painting, he was watching horror movies with Dru, talking to Ty about Sherlock Holmes, taking care of Tavvy, or in the training room.

However, Emma, being Emma, was always in the training room. Throwing knives and talking to Dru about Perfect Diego, fencing with Livvy to work on her saber-wielding skills and speculating on Kieran’s whereabouts -Mark had not mentioned him since he had showed up to help them out, but Kieran seemed to be around often, lurking about the outskirts of the Institute- or working on hand-to-hand combat with Ty while he wore headphones. But most often, Emma was wielding Cortana, hacking dummies to bits and pretending they were bloody, gory, dead demons. She ran on the beach three hours a day now that there was no investigation, and sometimes Cristina would join her, or more surprisingly, Perfect Diego. They never talked, but she was grateful for his (perfect) company. Julian, though, Julian was the one Blackthorn she longed to see and couldn't.

She missed him. It was funny, really, how it was only now that Emma had broken things off with Julian that she realized how much she’d missed him when he was in England, or New York, how much she loved him, in the all-encompassing way that one loved their _parabatai_ , but also more than that, in the way that Julian was like half the strands in a tapestry that would unravel if he was pulled out. He was a part of her, had cleaved to her and her to him; it made her think of gardeners who cut off branches of one tree and attached it to another, where the branches stuck, and grew that way until you couldn't tell that they had ever been two separate entities.

She put on an _iratze_ , the movements of her stele clumsy on her skin; she was using her right hand. Her bruises faded, but only slightly.

“Here, let me,” said the one voice she would know anywhere. Julian. “What have you been doing, Emma?”

“Falling,” she answered, pulling in a breath, the scent of him filling her lungs. Cloves and paint and Jules, familiar and heartbreaking. Emma didn't want to ruin the one moment she’d had alone with him in what feels like forever; she stayed very still, holding in the air that was Julian’s, too.

“I can see that,” he told her, and beyond his playful tone there was the slightest, subtlest tinge of hurt, one no one else would hear. There was the unspoken _Falling for Mark, right?_

He finished the _iratze_. It glowed and stung, and for a moment they stood there, staring at the rune he'd put on her arm, watching it burn before it faded to normal- but there was nothing ordinary about it, only the extraordinary. She let out the inhale and took another, leaned into him as she exhaled, knew he could feel her breath warm on his neck, wished she could feel his. Emma wished she could kiss him. She wished she could tear off her skin if it meant the _parabatai_  rune would be gone, if it meant she could be with Julian, love him in every capacity, with every kind of love; philia and agape and eros because she loved him in every way.

A montage of Julian touching her flooded her mind: _iratzes_ placed on her myriad injuries, splashing each other in the ocean, their parabatai ceremony, his hands gentle -always gentle with her, with the things he loved- as he drew the rune on her arm, and more recently, their handful of kisses, him fisting her hair as if it were something precious, his fingers grasping at their clothes to pull them off, his lips against her skin murmuring _Emma, Emma._

She wanted to touch him.

His breath hovered near her jaw. 

Emma turned and walked out of the room.

 

 

 

 


	2. So Simple But We Can't Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian paints, and breaks an easel. Emma runs, and thinks.

Emma ran from the training room, hands on her knees, and gasped for air. She bent over, staying in the position for a time. Only when she saw water droplets appear on her jeans did she realize she was crying.

The moment she saw her tears fall, she crumpled to the floor.

"Jules," she sobbed, and she was weeping, then, for all the things she had lost. A thousand broken possibilities of the life she might have had with Julian, one where they were never _parabatai_ and had been boyfriend and girlfriend instead and had grown up and gotten married and had children. Or maybe even one where Mark had been here, the future she had thought of once, briefly, and she had fallen in love with him and been _parabatai_ with Julian.

Just anything but this awful mess where she was in love, so crazily, deeply, madly in love with Julian Blackthorn, and he was her _parabatai,_ and now everything from now on could only be a pale semblance of happiness.

:::

Julian didn't know when his relationship with his _parabatai_ had gone so wrong. It was impossible to talk to Emma nowadays, to look at her, even and not think about kissing her, touching her, telling her he loved her. It was more difficult than slaying a thousand demons blindfolded to see her without being able to press his lips against hers, run his fingers through her hair, feel her body against his, warm and strong and _Emma_.

He felt the absence of her like a knife wound; being without her was like phantom limb pain.

As as the paintbrush slashed across the canvas, he wondered why he kept painting Emma. It hurt, every time, to look at the image of her, because he couldn't stop hearing her say, _You and I don't make sense. Mark and I would make sense. Or, I care about you. I even love you. But it's not enough._

To further his pain, he remembered what Mark had said. _So you bring him to Emma, for the wishes of our hearts are like knives against us._ It felt like that now, thoughts of her stabbing him over and over and over again. But still, he kept painting her.

Julian picked up the gold, then set it down. He would paint her as he never had before: in shadow.

Her hair was a rich copper, gleaming with the faint undertone of bronze and amber. Her face was half shaded, only one brown eye showing, the other a subtle glint in the darkness. She was dancing with someone, who was entirely hidden in the shadows. Her hair was bright, but second only to her ivory dress, which clung to her curves.

He put the brush down. He needed to stop torturing himself.

:::

Emma wondered what Julian's private studio looked like now. Would she walk in and see a thousand copies of her face, or would it be too unbearable for him to look at her, be reminded of her, as it stung her to look at him and see the distance between them, the distance that she had put there?

She couldn't bear -though she knew it was for the best- to think of him not loving her anymore. That not only Eros was gone from their relationship, but also philia and agape. Had she destroyed all the facets of their relationship?

She shook her head. She couldn't think like this. It was for the best. It was better for Julian to hate her and be alive than for him to love her and go insane.

The thud of her feet against the sand, her footsteps weightless as she ran, lulled her into peace. The sand stretched out for miles ahead of her, interrupted here and there by clusters of rocks, driftwood and sea glass and shells scattered along the beach. By in the Angel, why had she chosen to run on the beach today when, since her encounter with Julian, he was all she could think about? Memory slammed into her like a wave, but the sensation was at once far more painful and far more pleasurable than drowning.

:::

_Julian, lying on top of her, his arms braced in the sand on either side of her, his mouth on her neck._

_His hands in her hair, fingering the silvery-gold strands like it was something precious, his blue-green eyes glowing in the sunlight._

_The cold of his wet shirt against her skin before he tore it off, revealing a lightly muscled chest that bore faded Marks and fresh ones, runes that she had put there, runes that had not acted as ordinary runes should have._

_Julian's hands beneath her saltwater-soaked jeans, yanking them off along with her underwear, his hands searing her cold skin, tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, moving higher and higher before he thrust into her with a groan._

_Him murmuring her name against her throat,_ Emma, Emma, _as he shuddered against her, his face pressing into the hollow beneath her jaw, teeth scraping her skin as he came._

:::

She kept running, kept moving forward, and tried her hardest not to look back.

:::

Julian slammed his fist into the easel, splintering the wood.

The sound of it breaking was satisfying, and he shoved it into the wall, where it shattered and collapsed in pieces to the floor. A pain registered in his hand, dimly. He was bleeding, multiple slivers of wood sticking out of his palm and fingers.

The pain drove out the voices in his head, the ones telling him that he had had it all and lost it all, and had no idea why.

"Emma," he murmured, his tone nearly begging. "Emma, _please_..."

He wished he could have heard her say that she loved him, the last time they kissed in his studio. He wished they had never become parabatai, that he had never been selfish enough to want her tied to him, to this place, to this life.

He wished he could stop himself from painting her, loving her, wanting her, any more than he could stop his heart from beating.

:::

"Julian!" Emma called, clutching her hand to her chest: she knew it wasn't injured, but it felt like it was all the same. She knocked sharply on Julian's door with the pain-free hand. "Jules, open up!"

After a second, he opened the door. "What, Emma, what?" He sounded as if he had been falling off a cliff, about to catch himself, and now she had pushed him back off the edge. He was grasping his right hand in his left, she noticed, the one with the Voyance rune on it.

"You're hurt" was all she could think of to say now that he was looking at her, blue-green eyes luminous in the darkness of the doorway, his hair adorably dishevelled. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. "What happened?"

"You left me- you don't love me, and it is killing me to know that, Emma, that's what happened!" Julian was shaking now, with rage and barely restrained tears.

She had once thought that a crack in Julian would be a crack in the world to the younger Blackthorns; now she thought that a crack in him would be like a fissure in her, too. She reached out to touch him, not caring that it would murder her precarious self-control, not caring about anything except the fact that Julian was hurt and it was her fault. The worst thing someone could do to their _parabatai_. Her arms went around him, face against his chest, ear against his heartbeat, the only steady thing she'd known since her parents had died. Julian wrapped his arms around her, gingerly at first, then tightly, pressing her flush to his body.

"Let's get those splinters out of your hand," she told him. "And I'll give you an _iratze_."

The fight had left him. He murmured, "Okay," and let her.

:::

Julian's hand was bandaged now, a pile of bloody wood chips and tweezers next to them on the table. She had picked up her stele, and was carefully applying a healing tune to his forearm, and she thought back, now, to the one that had started it all, after the arrow poisoning. The blood on his chest, a never-ending spill, a terrifying sight that reminded her of the fact that Jules could die.

"What happened to you, Jules?" She was careful to call him that, careful not to give either of them a flashback to what they had so fleetingly been and could never be again.

"Broke an easel." He looked sheepish, brows knit together. There was sadness in his verdigris eyes.

Emma put down the stele, watching the rune spark and fade, a stark reminder that their love was still there, the wrong kind. _It's only been a few days_ , she told herself. _Give it time_.

"Why?" Julian loved his art supplies. They were everything to him. And besides, Tavvy played in the studio all the time, and he would never do anything to hurt his youngest brother, his baby.

"Just lost it, I guess." The sheepish note was back in his voice, faint embarrassment colouring his neck with a lovely flush.

"I don't know why we trust you in the kitchen," she joked, trying to settle back into their comfortable, pre-sex-on-the-beach routine.

"Because the rest of you are far from domestic," he shot back with a grin, the one reserved just for her.

"Very true," Emma said. "You're right sometimes, Jules."

She's just right this time.


	3. Kill You If We Kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark thinks. Then he trains with Emma, and they kiss.

Mark Blackthorn was in a very bad place.

He was confused as to why on earth Emma Carstairs would want him to lie to his brother, and the rest of his siblings about their relationship status. He was missing Kieran with a desperate, dangerous wanting, the sort that demanded everything from you and took even more- the kind, he was fairly certain, that the girl he was pretending to date felt for someone she wasn't saying.

However, at least Mark Blackthorn was definitely not in love with Emma Carstairs.

He was in love, impossibly in love, with Kieran, of the ever-changing hair, and wild eyes that matched his own in their divided brokenness, and his hands that could be gentle and strong. He had muddled, puzzling feelings for Cristina Mendoza Rosales, with her warm, steady eyes and hair like black silk, and soothing words. So he knew, then, that with all these entanglements, he absolutely harboured no romantic feelings for his brother's parabatai.

But he felt a sense of kinship, a sense of admiration and respect and protectiveness for this girl, who in his memory was a delicate blonde, now had grown into a strong, unyielding woman with all the power in the world over Julian's heart. They had the same longing, the same fighting, rebellious urge to break free of the chains of life and love and relationships, travel, wander and see all the brilliant places of the world, some untouched by human hands, others unseen by human eyes- that much, they had in common. Mark thought, sometimes, that had he not spent his years with the Hunt, or in Faerie, they might have ended up together in an alternate reality, where he had been there to watch Emma grow up and turn into someone desirable, someone any man would be lucky to love. Some other lifetime where he and Tiberius had had so much more time together, and he could be who his younger brother wanted him to be. Where he would not be surprised that Tavvy crawled into his lap, or that his siblings trusted him.

But deep down, he knew he didn't want that. He would never have loved Kieran, had he lived that life. Might never have lost him, but he never would have loved him.

So here he was, Mark Blackthorn, feigning love and hiding from his true love, and wondering how things had gotten this bad.

:::

That was the question of the day, it seemed.

How on earth Emma had gone from loving Julian to trying to pretend love for his brother -who, she mused, not only the mundane girls found attractive- she had no idea.

They were in the Institute's training room now, seeing whose aim was better with a crossbow, and Emma had to admit, Mark was a pretty good shot, even if he was only second to her.

"Not bad, Blackthorn. Not bad at all," Emma said to Mark with a smirk. "I mean, obviously I'm better, but still. Not bad."

"And as always, you are superior in everything but humility," Mark quipped.

After a while -a good thirty minutes, in which Emma insisted that she had hit the centre of the target, when she had really missed by two millimeters- they moved onto hand-to-hand combat, and then weapons training.

Cortana sung, and the familiar song, the song of the fight, the battle, the adrenaline rush that came with vengeance, and infected her with its coldness, the dance that she knew every step to, played out in her head. There was no room for Julian, for Mark, for being in love with her parabatai- there was only Cortana, and the blade against hers.

Mark was good, she would admit. Though faeries in the Hunt did not use swords normally, with training he had gradually gotten better; she had noticed, recently, that he was training just as much as her, and she was Emma, who trained like she breathed. She was fairly certain it wasn't entirely for the reason that he needed to get better at Shadowhunting. No, she was pretty sure he was using training the way she was now, to drive out thoughts by filling them with bruises, blot out heartbreak by breaking bones, shedding blood rather than tears.

"What are you... trying to forget?" She panted, metal clanging against metal as she parried, darting forward then back.

"What do you mean?" His eyes, both the blue-green and the gold, were unreadable; she sensed that they masked just as much pain as hers. "I don't have ... anything... to forget."

"Anything... but not anyone?" Emma retorted.

"I could... say the same for you," Mark said, feigning and then jabbing.

"I..." She paled. Emma remembered loving Julian, loving Julian so much it broke her open. And then she remembered trying to break him, because he loved her. The thoughts threw her off balance, and with Cortana gripped in her hand, she fell.

Mark landed on top of her, cold metal nearly piercing the skin of her throat. Nearly adding another scar to the thousands that decorated her skin like makeup, almost all of them connected to Julian somehow: Marks drawn by him, or wounds from their patrols together, or injuries from training with him. For a split second, she pressed her neck infinitesimally into the sword, to break the skin.

This scar was from Mark, now.

Mark, who would have to be her future, no matter how torturous it seemed.

Emma wriggled her way out expertly from under him, and pinned him to the training room floor; the golden blade of Cortana was flush against his jugular, catching the Los Angeles sunlight along with Mark's hair. A flicker of her old crush stirred, long dormant, and she breathed in. The breath hurt, like the very air knew what she would do and was burning, catching at her lungs.

She leaned down and kissed him.

The kiss was pleasant; like a day spent drinking in sunshine and laughing and talking and doing nothing in particular of importance. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling it free from the braid that she wore for training, smoothing down her back, and his lips were applying gentle pressure to hers. Nothing too insistent, as if he didn't really want her all that much, like they were killing time. With Mark, there was no trace of surprise; she was not uncertain of who he was when she touched the broadness of his shoulders, the chiseled expanse of his chest beneath his t-shirt, because she knew who he was: He was the faerie boy, Julian's older brother. His hair was cornsilk-soft, and for a moment she wondered if he had ever kissed a girl, or only boys. She didn't think he'd kissed Cristina, before she got back together with Diego, and he hadn't kissed anyone before he had been taken from the Institute. She wondered if it was any different, despite the anatomy, if mouths were all the same, kisses all the same.

Love all the same.


	4. California Never Felt Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing, interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey! I know it's been forever, but forgive me. I started things on Wattpad, updated other stories... I'm so sorry.

Kissing Mark, Emma thought, was like doing anything else with him: shooting arrows, riding on a faerie steed, sword-fighting.

It was fun, exciting, and didn't require much thought. It was nice while it lasted, but she doubted she would long for it when she didn't have it. She doubted thoughts of it would seep into her mind, invade her every action, push her towards the next kiss, the next time she could talk to him, touch him or even just catch a glimpse of him.

Because deep down, no matter how much she knew she shouldn't yearn for it, she was still waiting for her next kiss with Julian. Still wanting hopelessly, pointlessly, and irrevocably for Julian to kiss her, touch her, tell her he loved her.

By the Angel, why couldn't she just be happy kissing Mark? Why did she still think of Julian, even with the older Blackthorn boy's hands in her hair and lips on her skin and body against hers? Was there something fundamentally broken about her, wrong with her, that the one she loved was the one she couldn't love and yet she could never love anyone else-

And then Mark's lips were on hers again, and this time the kiss turned hungry, insistent, as if he knew of her thoughts and was demanding that she pay attention to him. Or maybe he, too, had thought of someone else, Kieran, perhaps, and was forcing all his attentions on her, to distract from anyone else- and she was _distracted_.

She opened her eyes for a second to see his eyes boring into hers -one gold and one Blackthorn blue-green, but that was enough, wasn't it? Just half Blackthorn, half Julian, close enough without being him. She closed them again, blocked out her traitorous, awful thoughts, and moved her hands to wander beneath Mark's shirt, feeling the ridges and planes of his chest, the skin hot, like he was burning with fever. And she was burning too, searing as she pulled Mark's shirt over his head, the sensation of his hands tracing over her bare back alarmingly familiar, and she jerked away from him just as a voice echoed through the training room.

"You two know this is a training room, right? Not a bedroom." It was bitter, this voice, wry to cover the hardened, scarred pain, but she would know it anywhere. Julian.

And on some level she was happy to have him there, happy that he knew about them, because some part of her was insane, some part of her would always want Julian to be the one she kissed, some part of her was so in love with Julian Atticus Blackthorn that it was impossible to imagine being with anyone else in any capacity ever, as long as he drew breath. Not when he existed, not when he painted, not when he was ruthless and merciless and could turn rivers to blood all for his siblings, not when he was nearly everything to her, not when he was everything that made him _Jules_.

"Of course I did," Emma said matter-of fact-ly, raising her chin in a self-righteous manner. "Don't know what he was thinking."

Jules smiled a little; she was glad, since recently he had been more likely to frown than grin. "Yeah, Mark, what were you thinking?"

To his credit, he shrugged. "I have not the slightest idea."

"Anyways," Her parabatai said. "Cristina was asking for you. Something about shopping?"

"Huh. That's weird. I thought she had enough clothes-" Emma started to say, her eyebrows drawing together.

"She also said that a bunch of her clothes were ruined by demon venom yesterday. She wasn't in gear, so she wasn't expecting it, but she's fine," Julian added.

"Oh, okay. I'll go, then." Emma could tell Julian was lying, from the slightest inflection in his tone, and also, she knew she would have been told if Cristina had had her clothes ruined by demon poison. They almost always went out together on patrol. But who was she to deny Jules anything, when she had hurt him so badly?

What kind of person would that make her?

She didn't want to find out.

:::

"Why did you do that?" Emma snapped at her parabatai. She put on a mask of frustration, mingled with mild anger, at being interrupted.

"Don't act like you don't know why, Emma, don't act like you don't know how I feel about you." Julian's voice was desperate, as if he was drowning and words were going to save him. As if she could possibly do anything about his pain that wouldn't further it in the end. "By the Angel, Emma-"

"You love me." She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from touching him, to throw up a makeshift shield, to keep her hand near Cortana, which was sheathed at her side. "This doesn't have to be complicated, Jules. Mark makes me happy. You love me. Don't you want me to be happy?"

He looked like he was fighting some internal battle, like he was banging up against a wall he had built himself. "Of _course_ I do." His eyes were shuttered now, perfectly blank. Dead inside, and Emma thought this must be what people looked like when they stopped fighting.

It killed her, but Emma had almost died a thousand times, by demons or Malcolm or her own recklessness. This wasn't new.

And she'd have to feel it a thousand times more. "With Mark… I can be normal. We like the same things. We have fun together. He's your brother, Jules." Emma emphasized the word brother, watching the pain it put on Julian's face. "After Malcolm, and everything that happened, I just really need something… Different."

When Jules looked like someone had dug out his heart with one of his pancake-flipping spatulas, she swallowed. Part of her felt like this was the end, the end of her being an actual person, because she was good at hurting people. It was a skill she'd devised over the years, violence a part of her daily life, but she'd never imagined that she would have to hurt Julian on purpose, Julian, who was a part of her, a part of her soul.

"Okay," he said. Simply, starkly, like okay was all he'd ever be, never anything more.

She knew she wouldn't be either.

:::

"Hey," Mark said, looking up when she arrived at the rooftop. "How was shopping?"

Emma smiled, in spite of her dark mood. He was getting better at this, being human. "Fine. What did you do?"

Mark blinked, a brief panic flitting across his face before he became composed again. "Nothing of import." And there was the faerie in him resurfacing, rearing its (very charming) head.

She wondered if he could ever be at peace, with the two sides of him always warring with each other. Emma crossed the roof, sitting next to Mark on a spread-out blanket, and resting her head on his shoulder. He smelled like electricity, a burned-out fuse. She felt like she was burned out too, zapped to a crisp, jittery and exhausted. They leaned against each other, the meagre space between them still enough for secrets, filled with the words neither of them was willing to admit. Emma felt out of place these days, lost and wandering without Julian to anchor her. Mark looked the same right now, as she turned to face him, like he didn't know what he was looking for, only that he couldn't find it.

"I saw Kieran today," the second-oldest Blackthorn confessed, turning his face away from hers as if it pained or embarrassed him to say it.

"Oh," Emma said, because what did you say to somebody who had had an encounter with their ex that they most likely still had feelings for? "Do you… Did you have a good time? Did you talk, or something?"

"I…" Mark was just as wary of the topic as she was, but went on. "No, we did not."

 _Oh_. Something akin to surprise or betrayal sprung up inside Emma's chest, and what she said next was typical banter. "Kissed, then?"

Mark didn't reply, just leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss hard and swift, so short it hardly registered, grabbed her hand, and led her over to a faerie steed, gleaming chrome and onyx and obsidian, the night sky without the stars.

They clambered on, her back resting against Mark's chest, and ascended into the darkness in silence.


	5. I Can Never Keep My Eyes Off This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian's insomnia. Mark brings Emma to meet someone...

Julian could not sleep, but he was the sort of tired that stripped away everything from a person except long-inscribed, deeply-ingrained habit, and this was his: Looking desperately for a way out.

Not a way out of danger, or out of depression as most might think, but a door marked exit - to him - would be the possibility of being with Emma, in every way possible. To be able to love her, not only as a _parabatai_ or as a best friend, but as a boyfriend would. It would mean that any touch between them, any physical contact, would be more than the pragmatic drawing of runes or tending of scars, more than helping each other up in battle or lending strength and balance. He would be able to touch her because he wanted to, slide fingers through her hair because he was in awe of the kaleidoscope of golden and amber and brown that it was, press parts of him against parts of her, just to see the pleasure that it stoked in her body, to hear it in the cadences of moans and gasps and sighs. He would be able to do all the things he had done before and could never do again.

The Law was the same; it never gave him the answer he so desperately sought. It was, after all, the Law. The Law would not bend or break or yield to love, no matter how strong, no matter how right it felt, no matter what Julian wanted.

 _Sed lex, dura lex_.

The law is hard, but it is the Law.

He went back to bed, pulling the sheets tight against his body as if he were trying to keep something out. Bad dreams, perhaps, because bad dreams brought thoughts of Emma and how her presence chased them away, but tonight her presence would only be more that he could not have, a temptation that did not love him back, a drug that would never give him the high he was chasing, though she was a drug that he chased anyways. Tonight she could only bring him pain, could only give him all that he wanted just out of reach, making Julian a modern-day Tantalus with Emma as his sustenance.

She was what he loved most, and all that he could not have. Like sleep, she was a breath away and impossible to reach.

Julian pulled the sheets over his head to keep out bad thoughts.

:::

"And here I thought you preferred the company of your princess," Kieran made his presence unannounced, appearing suddenly behind them as only faeries could, in a way that Shadowhunters, for all their training, could never quite match. It was another reminder that Mark Blackthorn was different, only half-fey, that some great chasm had opened between them, growing more insurmountable every day.

Emma Carstairs slid off of the bike and glared at him, arms crossed over her chest. "Emma, stay," Mark commanded.

The blonde spitfire looked at him with the same angry expression she had given Kieran. "Since you seem to think I'm going to sit, roll over and play dead, I have to warn you. My bite is worse than my bark."

"I like her," Kieran told Mark, gauging his reaction. "And before you do what an awful lot of what you humans do, which would be to advise on the dangers of speaking about you as if you are not present, please allow me to inform you of my knowledge of your presence."

"That was an annoyingly long sentence." Emma turned to Mark, and Kieran hurt.

It was funny, really, how after what mortals coined a "breakup", the ones in the former relationship seemed to lose all the emotion they previously felt for one another - until all that was left was an ocean's worth of pain. This certainly seemed to be such a situation, and the same feelings were present. The Shadowhunter girl should not have created such agony, should not have been the cause of what felt like a thousand faerie steeds stampeding over Kieran's heart - yet she was. She was mortal, and that should have meant nothing, but instead it means everything. It meant that Mark was the same as her when he had once been the same as Kieran. And there it was, the stark reminder that Mark was still the same, in their eyes: no longer twins of each other but twins of two boys who loved with all the stars watching, only he is not the same as Kieran anymore.

Mark was all under the wild great expanse of the universe and sky and galaxy that Kieran loved, and Mark did not love him.

He was broken, and broken things were sharp.

"Well, you are surprisingly annoying for being so small," he informed her. She looked as if she were searching for a weapon absentmindedly, fingers never straying far enough from a blade.

"Could the two of you please - " Mark stepped in between them. "I brought you - " Here he looked at Emma, who was glaring daggers and reaching for them - "Here so you could... So that the two of you might become friends."

"I have enough friends. He's dead faerie meat," the blonde told him bluntly, her blades much sharper, yet her words sharper still.

"Why, are you suggesting that you did not to see me?" Kieran masked his words with nonchalance, because deception was not a poison he could choose (because desperation might reveal itself otherwise.) "Mark, are you stating that you have dragged your unfortunate _girlfriend_ here so that we might become friends? What a fool's quest!"

"I was getting to that part." Mark looked irritated, though whether it was with Emma or Kieran, the faerie couldn't tell. "I did come here to see you. I miss you. Kieran, I love you."

 _Dreaming, he must be dreaming_ was the last thought in Kieran's mind.


	6. Carves Into My Hollow Chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark-centric.

"Mark?" Julian entered his room after a soft knock and Mark's whispered permission for entry.

The elder Blackthorn could imagine thousands of nights, five years of moments like this, his gentle brother - _not so gentle anymore_ , he thought ruefully - and his four children, the darkness and Julian's voice comforting or entertaining or simply his quiet presence. Julian as all that stood between Drusilla-and-Livia-and-Tiberius-and-Tavvy and peril or fear or imagined terrors. Now Julian was the oldest, Mark thought, the shadows under his eyes, the voice of his that was so like their father's, the dangerous secrets he kept all attesting to that. Or had he always been like this, the responsible one, the ruthless one, the one who did what had to be done without complaint or argument?

"Yes, Julian?" His voice was anticipation itself, on an edge waiting to break or fall, not knowing which would hurt more.

"I'm sorry." An apology? This simple statement jarred Mark out of his drowsiness, sounded ridiculous echoing in his mind - suddenly guilty of a thousand things, undeserving of any of his brother's apologies.

"Whatever for?" Mark sat up slowly, thinking about the whip marks on Julian's back and Emma's, and that no amount of apologies, empty pointless words could take back the lashes. "Julian, there is _nothing_ you need to be sorry for - "

"Yes, Mark. There is." There was the rustling sound of the coverlet, Julian moving closer to him, like he was hoping to be hurt, hoping for recompense to his guilt. "I left you. The day Jonathan Morgenstern came to the Institute, the Portal was open. Emma was worried about you. She wanted to go back for you. The Portal was only going to hold for a few minutes, I thought for a moment that maybe there was enough time to get you - and I would have, if it was only me. But it was _Emma_. I wasn't going to leave her. I was selfish; I didn't want to go through if she didn't; I didn't want her to go back for you if that meant she didn't make it to Idris." A pause, a quiet sob. "I should have gone back for you."

"Julian. My gentle brother." The darkness gave him time. Everything was slower in it, as if words took more time, in the dark, to find their destination, to travel through ears into minds and hearts. He had time to think, about what words would heal his brother. "You did what you had to. You have always done what has to be done. What if you had gone back for me? Jonathan Morgenstern would have turned you and Emma both, two Shadowhunters down and one left to the Hunt. It is I who should be sorry, brother. For when I returned... I know you were not expecting me to be as I was. You had hoped, if not expected, me to be capable of caring for you, capable of doing what you have done so well these past five years. And I was..." He smiled, then, a sad and bitter expression, hidden in the night. "I was not. I was only one more burden for you to shoulder."

" _Mark._ " Julian's tone was admonishing, and once again, Mark saw a glimpse of Andrew Blackthorn in his younger brother, recalling Octavian looking at Julian the way Mark had Andrew: in awe, seeking approval, praise. "Mark, don't you ever call yourself a burden. You're family. We love you. Tavvy, Dru, Livvy, _Ty_... Raziel, Ty loves you so much. And Emma, too, obviously." Mark thought he detected a strange emotion in Julian's voice... jealousy? "I love you."

"I love you as well."

With those words, he thought back to the last person he'd spoken them to: _Kieran_.

:::

"You love me?" Kieran looked at him in disbelief. Faeries rarely showed such emotion, hardly ever wore their hearts on their sleeves - sometimes, before he had met Kieran, he'd wondered if they had hearts.

Mark looked back at him, trying to display as much honesty, pour out as much _love_ as he could in his steady gaze. "I have never lied to you, have I?"

Kieran smiled at him, a smile that did not hold the cold, bittersweet magic of Faerie, but a human smile. Sad and hopeful, all at once. "How faerie-like it is for you to answer a question with a question."

"I am half-faerie, after all." _Half of me is you_ , he thought, _but do you feel the same_? "Whatever would cause you to become unconvinced of my love for you?"

"The Shadowhunter girl," he replied. "Not Emma - your princess. The one you thought would not want you, would not love you - as if such a thing were possible!"

"I have wanted her," Mark admitted. "But you have my heart, and she does not want a body without a heart."

"It is not only her," Kieran said. "The distance between us - you are mortal, and I am not. I am fey, and you do not seem to have embraced your faerie nature. This I could accept, if we were in the Hunt, if we were close, if I felt at all like you were tied to me. Like we used to be. Only now - now it feels as though - "

"As though the bond between us has broken?" Mark moved suddenly, gracefully, putting a leg over Kieran's hip, so that he was straddling him. He leaned in close, so that their lips nearly brushed. "Do not say that again, Kieran. We are not broken. We have not finished. I will never be finished, not with you - and I do not see how I could be."

"I have said it before, but I will say it again." Kieran looked up at him, eyes black and silver, the night sky and its stars. "I love you, Mark Blackthorn."

"I love you, as well."

And as he looked into the divided eyes of the boy he loved, his heart felt the same: torn between two insurmountable points, the two halves irreconcilable. 

 _Cristina_. 

:::

"Love you," Tavvy said drowsily, as Julian carried him to bed and tucked him in. His Blackthorn eyes glowed in the faint moonlight, his small face round and innocent. Julian's heart clenched at the memory of how close he'd come to losing his brother.

He leaned in, kissing his brother's forehead. "Love you, too. Good night, Tavs."

"Night," murmured Octavian with a yawn. Julian moved to the door, watching him curl up on the beds closing his eyes as he settled comfortably beneath the blankets. He stayed in the doorway until soon enough, Octavian's breathing evened out, slow and heavy, steady as the tide outside his window.

Closing the door behind him, he turned, startled, to face Emma.

"What are you doing here, Em?" He asked quietly, taking her arm and steering her further down the hallway, away from the children, Mark, and Cristina's rooms.

"I miss you. I wanted to see you." A streak of moonlight illuminated the hallway, turned Emma's eyes from brown to liquid gold, her hair to a faint, washed-out platinum that still glowed in the starlight. "It isn't very healthy for parabatai to be separated, you know. Sure, there aren't any Laws against it or something, which I would for once be less than happy to break, but - "

  
"Why?" The question fell out of him the same way, gave him the same feeling he'd had when they kissed: in a way that took away free will, gave him tunnel vision, unable to focus on anything but the current moment. Julian was an excellent liar; he lied for survival, so he had to be good at it. Needed to be. And so this... This was abnormal behaviour for him. He was controlled, reserved. He didn't blurt out desperate queries that belonged in the scripts of romantic comedies.

  
Emma looked up at him quizzically. "Why what? Why aren't there any Laws against it? I mean, I'll be the first to admit I've never really thought about why there aren't Laws about something, but my guess is..."

  
She continued on, but Julian was lost in his own thoughts. It hurt to be around her, and it shouldn't have. Her presence was creating a pounding headache, which throbbed in his skull; instead of feeling less fatigued, instead of the doubling magic of parabatai healing his wounds and soothing his body, Julian felt weak. Dizzy.

  
He was still holding onto Emma's wrist, he realized. Julian looked down at it, at the curve of her palm and the blue veins showing faintly through her tan skin, at her strong, calloused fingers moulded to wield Cortana, but still capable of tenderness, of love. The urge to kiss her was unbearable, the fact that she didn't love him the way he loved her even more so. Longing, wanting pulled at his body, his heart, but his will was stronger. It had to be.

Desire was human. Desire was human, but Julian couldn't be. He had children, a family to hold together. He couldn't afford desire, and he certainly couldn't be in love with his _parabatai_.

  
So Julian smiled down at Emma as she finished her explanation. "That was an awfully long guess for someone whose motto is 'Quip fast, die young'."

  
"Well, you know." She grinned back. "I like to keep things interesting."

  
They walked down the hallway to Emma's room in the other wing, speaking in hushed voices. This was a path they had walked thousands of times, but this time it felt longer than usual, more physically draining. Each step made his feet feel more and more leaden, like he was walking through slowly hardening molasses. It must have been the dread, he thought. 

Dread of how the night would end, because Julian knew exactly how the night would end. He would follow Emma to her room, and she would ask him to stay. He would stay, and he would crawl into bed with her, and act as if nothing had changed. He would lie beside her, the distance between them only that of childhood, of five years ago, of the memory of stacked books between them - the distance between them as it should be, as close as  _parabatai_  could ever be, which was achingly far.


	7. Feelings That We Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian has a confession. The plot finally moves.

Emma woke up to the sound of Julian's voice, soft in her ear, comforting as the sunshine that spilled through the sheer curtains. He'd drawn on her arm _E-M-M-A-A-R-E-Y-O-U-A-W-A-K-E-Y-E-T._ "Last night - I wasn't asking you why there aren't any Laws against _parabatai_ being estranged."

 _I-K-N-O-W_ , she wrote back on his forearm. He grasped her hand suddenly, running his thumb over her knuckles. She'd always thought that her hands were made only to fit Cortana, but now she thought they were also, perhaps, made to fit in Julian's.

"I wanted to know why - " He stopped himself, and there was the Julian she'd known these past five years : controlled, because he had to be. Everything Julian was, she thought sometimes, was because he had to be.

Emma hugged her I LOVE CALIFORNIA pillow to her chest with her free arm and wished it was Julian. She squeezed it tighter and wished it was between them. This was a bad idea.

"I was asking why you were there. I wanted to know how you could possibly act like nothing had changed, like everything was the way it had been before - By the _Angel_ , the way it was five years ago. When we could have been _parabatai_ and nothing more, when you were my best friend and I painted anything, not just you." His voice was shaky now, uncontrolled. It was terrifying and painful and thrilling.

"Jules - " She didn't know how to make this better, let alone make it right, so it was just as well that he stopped her.

"I love you. I've always loved you. I just don't know when loving you became something wrong."

Emma hugged - no, crushed the pillow to her chest. Then she let it go. "Jules - "

"What can you say, Emma?" Julian's tone was bitter, the way it had been when he'd walked in on her and Mark kissing. "What can you say, Em, that will make any of this better or right? Raziel, Emma, what can you do?"

He was still clutching her hand the way he had last night, after she'd made the mistake of going to Tavvy's room, knowing he would be there. Sensing him in a way she'd never done before. The _parabatai_ curse was probably responsible for that

Julian had turned on his side now, to face her, and the look on his face hurt more than any demon wound ever could. He was looking at her like she'd pulled him out of the ocean - and was preparing to throw him back in.

"Our souls are knit. We're _parabatai_ ; our very souls are connected. So why do I feel so broken ever since you told me that you don't feel the same way?"

 _Don't say that like I don't_ , she wanted to scream at him. Instead, Emma answered. "You don't love me that way Jules. We both know that. It's like you said on the beach after we slept together. We're tied together, we know each other so well - but we're not in _love_. We're attracted to each other. Nothing's changed, Julian, we're just at that age when - "

"I - you're right. Just - just forget I said anything." He let go of her hand. He felt miles away. "It's just... _Chemistry_. That's all."

Emma nodded, and got out of bed. She could feel Julian's eyes on her, and all she could think about was the handful of explosive kisses they'd shared, each one pressing up against the backs of her eyelids, taking hold of her senses, centering all of her attention on Julian, and the space between them.

She closed her eyes, and willed them to go away. When she reopened them, Jules was gone.

:::

"Where's Julian?" Emma asked when she walked downstairs - hair still dripping from her shower - to find a frazzled-looking Cristina flipping pancakes at the stove and trying to get Mark out of her hair.

"He's sick - Mark, stop trying to help! Don't you remember what happened the last time you were in the kitchen?" Cristina batted him away, a few strands of hair escaping her bun. It was the first time she'd seen the older girl look anything but perfectly composed.

Normally, Emma would have laughed or chimed in with a witty comment, but all she could feel right now was Jules's absence, pressing in on her chest like a weight. Emma did her best to hide the fear, smiling as she walked over to Mark, giving him a quick, barely-there peck on the mouth, before helping Cristina with the pancakes and shooing Mark to his seat next to Ty. She went through the morning in a haze; she saw Ty pointedly ignore Mark, and Tavvy ask for the one thing they were out of (more butter on his pancakes) and the mess of sticky dishes left when everyone had gone - but she didn't _see_ any of it, not really.

All she saw was Jules hurting, him bleeding, him dying. Anyone else might not have worried, anyone else might have assumed it was only a cold or at worst a flu, but Emma knew Julian. Nothing would have kept him from taking care of the children - not illness, not demons, not the Clave, _nothing_.

Cristina seemed to sense Emma's unease, and sent her off to check on Julian, doing the dishes by herself. She was already sprinting to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. When she got to his room, Ema threw open the door, panic wracking her body, only to find it empty. He wasn't there. For a moment she thought - hoped - that he wasn't such, this morning had been only a bad dream, but then she heard it.

It was Jules, retching. She opened the connecting door to the bathroom, and saw him, kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting. Emma pulled out her stele, trying to remember if there was an anti-nausea rune, or maybe even a seasickness rune.

"Hey, Jules." She rubbed his back until he was finished. "Is this the part of the movie where you tell me you're either pregnant or hungover?"

"Very… Funny, Em."

His voice was hoarse. Emma filled a glass with water and handed it to him. He got up shakily and rinsed his mouth before taking a swig. She examined him; his eyes were glassy, with shadows beneath them, looking almost sunken into his pale face in the dim light. He looked like a ghost, or maybe a statue of Hades, the Greek god of death.

"Do you…. How do you feel?" She waved off his weak protests and helped him to bed.

"Better than I look. That's saying something, isn't it?"

"It's still not as good as I look." She grinned at him, trying to light yen the mood.

"No, I don't." He nodded, then yawned.

She got up to leave. Staying would mean being alone with him, and that would mean having to hurt them both even more.

"Don't go, Emma," he implored her. " _Stay_."

Julian was already half-asleep, his voice slurred with drowsiness.

"I have to go," she said quietly. "But I'm gonna be here when you wake up, okay?"

She left silently, and jammed the heels of her hands against her shut eyes before the tears could seep out.

It was too late for her feelings, though.


	8. Swerving On The 405

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Silent Brother's arrival. Developments.

Julian had come to a realization.

His feelings for Emma were paint. Once, the paint had been simple, perhaps a primary colour, five years ago when they had only loved each other as best friends, as _parabatai_ should _._  Then, there had been a different colour when they became _parabatai_ , and everything had become twice as intense - and doubly muddled. And now - now desire had been thrown into mix, the wrong kind of love had been added, yet another hue of paint. No matter how hard he tried, he could not take back his feelings for Emma anymore than he could separate paint that had been mixed together.

All of it - the friendship, the _parabatai_ bond, the romantic love - all of it was streaked on his heart, his canvas of a heart, and he would never be able to take it off - no matter how much he, or even Emma, wanted to.

He heard her voice; he was always hearing her voice, seeing her face, melding in and out of dreams and reality that were filled with nothing but her. "I swear to _Raziel_ , if you don't heal Julian, I'll - "

 _Flay off my skin and make a carpet of it?_ This Silent Brother seemed to have a sense of humour, or perhaps Emma had made the same threat before. He wasn't sure. Everything was blurring together, as confusing as his feelings for his _parabatai_.

"Emma," he whispered, so quietly it felt like an extension of his thoughts, so near silent he hadn't realized he'd said it. "Emma, come here."

"Jules?" She darted to his bed, one hand on Cortana, as if she could battle whatever illness was plaguing him, the way she had everything else that tried to harm him. "Jules, what is it?"

"Don't - don't let the children come in." He cleared his throat, his voice croaking and hoarse. "I don't - I don't want them to see me like this."

"Jules, Ty and Livvy aren't children anymore. Can't they - ?" She looked at him, really looked at him, the first time she'd looked him in the eye since she'd begun dating Mark.

"No." He hung onto her wrist, pulling her close. "You cannot let any of them come in, Emma, promise me - "

She was so close, her brown eyes wide with concern, eyebrows knitting together, a lock of her blonde hair falling out of its bun and onto his shoulder. She smelled like sweat and leather and rosewater soap. Julian could count the rings of gold in her eyes, the freckles dotting her nose. There was nothing he wanted to do more than kiss her -

"Jules," she whispered. "Jules, you're burning up."

The Silent Brother glided over soundlessly, and gestured Emma away. She said something he couldn't hear as the world faded to black.

:::

"Get in." Emma was waiting in the car for Mark, who had just emerged from the Institute. "We're going somewhere."

"Where is this somewhere you speak of?" He climbed in, and she was reminded of that night heading to the Midnight Theatre in her ivory dress, with Julian at her side, his hand next to hers. It seemed like a lifetime ago, something that had happened to another, luckier Emma.

"Anywhere but here."she backed out of the driveway and revved the engine, hearing the lovely vibration, the purr of the car beneath her.

Once they were down the hill the Institute was perched on and at a stoplight, Emma looked over at Mark. His hair was wild, though the car's top hadn't been down. His eyes, though - the blue and the gold gleaming luminously in the fading light - his eyes were hollow. Haunted. They still held all the fierceness and beauty of the Hunt, like an ice sculpture or the moon; beautiful, but untouchable no matter how close you were.

Then, maybe not that untouchable, Emma thought, when his hand found its way to her leg. He was still not hideous, and his hand was warm on her thigh, and before she knew it she'd pulled over and was kissing him.

He kissed her like he was as pleasure-starved as she was, like he'd been spending days without touch of any kind. She kissed him back just as feverishly, just as eager to blot out pain and tears and heartbreak with sheer physical pleasure, flooding her senses with his scent of cedar and river water, vivid and fresh, with the taste of him, sharp and bitter and sweet and cold. Drowning out the world and Jules' sickness and any thoughts of her parabatai with the way Mark felt against her, skin against skin but still not close enough, with all their lies and secrets holding them apart. 

They wound up in the Toyota's backseat, her on top of him - and if she closed her eyes, he was Julian, and he was bleeding out; this time, bleeding into her.

This time, she could not save him.

:::

The drive back was quiet, which didn't seem very good for Emma's sanity: being left alone with only the emotions and thoughts chasing each other around her head felt like it might split her head open, or her heart.

Even with nothing but the night sky overhead, a thousand pinpricks of light shining down on them, Emma felt trapped. The stars were all judging her, had seen her with Mark, had seen her use Mark as a way to erase her anguish and dry her tears. They had seen, and surely someone would know.

When they got back, the children were heading to bed, Dru carrying Tavvy up the stairs, Livia and Ty talking on the couch until eventually, their conversation waned and they walked up the stairs to their bedrooms.

Emma collapsed into bed, dazed, and kept Mark with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she pressed her face into his chest as if he could keep out the world - but he was the world; he was agony and sorrow and tragedy, scars and tears and blood.

He was not a happy ending.

And outside her bedroom window, she could still see the stars.


	9. Overanalyze Again

"Is he going to be okay?" Emma was standing anxiously by Julian's bed, her hand on Cortana - though for once, it brought her no comfort.

A Silent Brother - at Diana's insistence; Emma had wanted to call Magnus - stood over the bed. Julian looked sick, listless, febrile. His cheeks had hollowed, his eyes sunken, his limbs resting limply on the sheets like wilted lettuce.

This sickness is strange, Brother Malachi declared. _You are_ parabatai _, and therefore it should affect both of you. However, you are not as ill as him, if you are ill at all. We may need to take samples back to the Spiral Labyrinth to run tests. This may not be an illness; it could be the results of a curse._

There was another Silent Brother with him, taking bits of Julian's hair, his DNA. Emma hardly noticed it as a maelstrom of thoughts ran through her head, wild and dark as the Hunt.

A curse?

"Rare... rare doesn't mean deadly, does it?" Julian was fine. Julian would be fine. He was a Shadowhunter, not some scrawny mundane. He'd be fine. She knew that. Emma didn't need to tell herself that.

_Fine, fine, fine._

"Emma, you shouldn't be in here, you should be training." Diana stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. Mark was behind her, looking oddly guilty.

"But - "

"Julian will be fine. Now, get going." The tutor was stern, and her voice brokered no argument.

Mark put a hand on her back as she walked down the hallway towards the training room; his touch felt like poison, like a catalyst for the guilt she felt. 

Julian was a dead end, a brick wall she couldn't stop running into at full speed. The _parabatai_ Mark etched on her skin felt like a wound rather than a rune, leaching the life out of her.

:::

Cristina was in the kitchen, preparing lunch, when Emma entered with Mark.

She looked up at the Blackthorn, then Emma, and for a brief moment sadness flitted over her face before it disappeared. Maybe she was just anxious about Julian, like they all were?

"Hey, Tina," Emma greeted her, swinging onto the counter where Cristina was crushing tortilla chips, muttering something about chiles. "Whatcha making?"

"Tortilla soup." The older girl was so busy, Emma doubted she even noticed Mark's arrival as she busied herself around the kitchen. "Chop those onions for me, would you?"

"Um...okay." As she obliged, sliding off of the table, Mark stepped into the room, and was put to work a while later.

It was funny, how Julian had always been the domestic one, and now Cristina was here, in his place, not half as comforting but a solace all the same for the distraction she provided.

She fumbled with the knife, taking a few minutes to get a rhythm down, wondering how she could be so proficient with Cortana yet not even handle a simple kitchen knife. Or maybe it was thoughts of Julian, worries of Julian, plaguing her like a drug she couldn't get out of her system, dogging her steps.

"How are you holding up, Cristina? I know you didn't sign up for this - " Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked then away. They were onion-dicing tears. Nothing more. "You're not supposed to be taking care of us."

"It's fine." The older girl's back was turned. "I'm sure Julian will be fine."

The words did nothing for Emma's anxieties. What kind of disease or curse could have taken down Julian, who was the children's father, her own _parabatai_ , the other half of her, strong in ways she could never be? What curse was there?

Curse? Malcolm had warned her about the parabatai curse, and Jem had elaborated on it, but what if they were missing something?

What if there was a part of the curse they hadn't touched upon - the part that took place when _parabatai_ stayed away from each other instead of being together?

"I have to go." She dropped the knife, dropped her worry, and let purpose flood her instead. "There's something I need to do."

:::

Emma listened to Kit's voice echoing through the Institute. She didn't think she ought to interfere unless it led to bloodshed.

It was nice to have someone to worry about that wasn't Julian and research on the parabatai curse - even if it was Ty, and the box of Sherlock Holmes DVDs he'd tried to bribe Kit with to come out of his room.

"I don't want your stupid DVDs! Just leave me alone or I swear, I'll kill you." Kit was shouting, sounding a little out of breath. What were Ty and Livvy up to now?

His voice was accompanied by the sound of fists pounding against wood. Was that Ty and Livia at Kit's door? Probably, since they seemed to be the only people he had talked to since his arrival at the Institute - except Julian, and those conversations only centred around mundane things such as food and blankets.

"You couldn't kill him if you tried!" Livvy was yelling back, her voice slightly muffled.

"Why, 'cause he's got his big sister to defend him?" Kit's voice was antagonizing, and the mood felt likely to lend itself to physical fights, so Emma went down the hallway to the room Kit had taken residence in.

Livia and Ty had taken up residence outside the room Kit had barricaded himself in, and one twin carried a tray of food while the other held the box of Sherlock Holmes DVDs.

"I'm going to leave this here, Herondale!" Livvy left the food on the floor and turned to leave. Tiberius stayed.

"That's not my name!" He shouted. This appeared to be the final straw, because the door opened, and out tumbled one Christopher Jonathan Herondale.

Ty looked at him, eyes wide, before he spoke. "Nice seeing you again."

"Yeah, well you look a lot better when you don't have a knife to my throat."

"Like I said, that was business." Ty backed away from the door, and Kit followed him. "Nothing more."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else read the chapter sampler of LoS - it's floating around on Tumblr - and died???


	10. My Neck (The Feeling of Your Soft Lips)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I know it's a little short but I hope you guys enjoy!  
> *This chapter has been updated and edited! Re-read, and let me know what you think.*
> 
> I had writer's block and really regret uploading that subpar chapter. WILL TAKE IT DOWN AS SOON AS I COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER
> 
> I hope you are all patient with me as I try to come up with Chapter 10. If anyone has ANY thoughts on how it should go, PM me or review.
> 
> 12/31/2016:   
> Okay! Last time! Final version of chapter 10!

 

Julian stretched, his knuckles knocking against the bedroom wall harshly. He winced, opening his eyes to see sunlight, and two unexpected visitors: a very glittery Magnus, and his older brother, whose pointed ears were peeking through his ash-blond hair.

"Mark?" Julian swung his legs over the side of the bed - far too quickly - and a frisson of nausea and dizziness swept over him, his ears roaring as though the room held a white noise machine set to OCEAN. Once his head cleared and he had vomited into a trash can (hastily conjured up by a disgusted warlock ) he spoke again, feeling weak. This was not how he wanted his older brother to see him, not at all how he had wanted Mark to settle back into his life as a Shadowhunter; Julian was falling apart, unable to hold himself together, let alone his family. "Mark, what are you doing here?"

"My, my," Magnus cut in before Mark could answer. "More surprised to see your brother than you are to see the High Warlock of New York? Now I know why Emma was worried."

"What did Emma tell you?" Julian asked, anxious as he stumbled out of bed.

"That you were sick," came a voice from the door. It wasn't Mark, who had yet to say anything. It was Ty, and this was his worst nightmare; that the children would see a part of him that he did not want him to, the parts of him he showed only to Emma, who had been avoiding him, Emma whose presence was no longer a balm to his soul but sometimes the demons that hounded it.

"Ty," he said. "Ty, you shouldn't be here."

"Is it true, that you're sick?" Tiberius Nero Blackthorn stared at his older brother, the grey eyes filled with a myriad mix of emotions; fear, hope, sadness, anger. Julian thought of Emma's words, thought of Diana's: You can't protect them forever.

No, but he could damn well try. "No," he said finally. "I've just been - "

"Cursed," Magnus stated suddenly. Julian suspected that he had been waiting for such a moment to appear all powerful and magicky and dramatic. "That's what I'm here to tell you; Emma had me do some investigating. When Malcolm died, the powerful enchantments he had put on the cave rebounded on the person that killed him. That person was supposed to be Emma, but because of her parabatai connection to Julian, it affected him instead. A twofold curse. I've seen these things happen before, in a few cases."

"You have?" Emma appeared at the doorway, and Julian began to feel a little annoyed with all the people barging into his bedroom with announcements and questions. "It's true, the? It was just Malcolm? Nothing to do with parabatai?"

"Did you hear a thing I just said?" Magnus turned to Emma, looking as irritated as Julian felt.

"Yeah, yeah, warlock curse, enchantments, cave, rebounding, connection. Is Julian going to be okay?" Emma put her hands on her hips, glaring at the Downworlder.

"Once I diagnose the spells used on the cave, I can have him back to Shadowhunting and whatever it is you do around here for fun in about two weeks." Magnus clapped his hands together in a matter-of-fact way, and he half expected to see glitter fall from them.

He felt all the tension release from the room, but Julian was looking at Emma, and she was not looking back.

:::

That night, flooded with relief that the parabatai curse had managed to stay out of one facet of Julian's life, Emma dreamed of Julian.

He was dressed in white, the colour that Shadowhunters wore for mourning: white ceremonial gear and a white button-down shirt, so thin it was almost sheer, Marks showing through it. His parabatai rune was visible on his skin, glowing with the radiant glory of heavenly fire instead of the matte black that runes usually were.

They were in a large ballroom, with a ceiling that gleaned as brightly as Cortana, and in the same gold. The floor appeared to be rippling water, the surface changing every time she looked down. Music was playing from an unseen source, slow and classical with plenty of string instruments.

He spoke. "Dance with me?"

She stepped into his arms, his hands at her back and on her bare shoulder. Emma looked down, and saw that she was wearing the dress she'd bought for the Midnight Theatre's Lottery. It was paler than she remembered, almost the same hue as Julian's clothes.

They spun around to the music in perfect sync. Emma spoke. "Why are we wearing white, Jules?"

"Don't be silly, Emma," he said, grinning down at her. "You're the most Shadowhunter-y Shadowhunter I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She gripped his arms; they seemed to be waltzing at a faster pace, a dizzying, feverish whirl. The walls were blending together into molten gold before her eyes like ichor.

"It means what it means, Emma." Julian smiled again, a little sadly. "It means I'm dead."

And then they were spinning madly through the ballroom,   her feet no longer on solid ground, only Julian was disintegrating before her. His white suit turned black, brittle, and his body became ashes. Shadowhunters were burned when they died, their ashes given to the Silent City, but Julian wasn't dead yet, not her Julian, not Jules, no -

"No!" she started screaming and didn't stop, even after she'd woken up.

Julian couldn't be dead. Magnus was going to heal him, Jules would live -

"Emma!"


	11. Until I Had You On The Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff hits the fan? Man, for once it sounds better swearing..

Underneath the sheet was Julian, looking stiff and pale, his colour waxy, but breathing. Alive.     
  
Not dead. Not at all the way she'd seen him in her dreams, but Emma couldn't shake the creeping sensation, the absolute chaos she had felt, ready to pounce when she'd thought Julian, her Jules, her  _ parabatai _ was dead, the utter terror and sorrow and havoc that she'd been on the verge of submerging herself in.    
  
There was a strange, numbing feeling in her shoulder, where the rune was carved, the Mark that tied her to Jules till death or worse parted them. Looking over at it, she saw that it was not the typical dark hue of runes, but had a strange glow instead, not unlike the one she'd seen in her dream on Julian's  _ parabatai _ mark.    
  
Impossible. She was seeing things; the dream had confused her; there was nothing wrong with the parabatai rune. She was with Mark, meaning she and Julian would be fine, would not be a tragic warning sign against  _ parabatai _ falling in love or some disaster waiting to happen.    
  
"Listen to me, Emma," Magnus was saying. Her head snapped up, braid hitting her back, arms at her sides, ready for battle. "Are you listening?"   
  
"I am," she replied, tensing, squaring her shoulders back. She was Emma Carstairs, and did not run; she fought.    
  
He waved a hand idly over the bed; blue sparks flew out of his fingertips. Magnus wasn't looking at her. "What did Malcolm say to you before he died, Emma?"   
  
A jolt of dread hit her like lightning and sparked a fire, coiled in the pit of her stomach, made her brace herself for the news after her answer. "He said... that he could tell me about the  _ parabatai _ curse. That if he died, no one would tell me about it."   
  
_ Doesn't matter now _ , she thought. He was dead, and she knew anyways. It was better this way. Better that she knew, so she could save Julian instead of them hurting each other.    
  
"You love him," Magnus said bluntly. "Julian. You're in love with Julian, aren't you?"   
  
"Of course not!" Emma snapped, busying herself with fluffing the pillows by Jules' head.    
  
Unbelieving, Magnus raised an eyebrow, and dropped his typical snarky facade. "You can tell me, Emma." His voice, his face, were surprisingly soft. It broke her heart, because even he, Magnus, who was wise and all-knowing and never-endingly sarcastic, didn't know. "Who I am to judge?"   
  
On top of the blankets, Julian's hand twitched. She took hold of it, wishing he would wake. "The curse is awful, Magnus. Sed lex, dura lex. The Law is hard for a reason. If  _ parabatai _ fall in love... they'll have too much power. The magic will overcome them, and they'll go insane, and kill each other and everyone they love. I can't love him, Magnus. Not like that. We were going to, but then - then Jem told me and I broke things off. We're going to be fine."  _ Right _ ?   
  
Now he was silent. Magnus put a hand on her shoulder. "Emma, I'm afraid that won't work."   
  
The question she asked was futile, pointless, something to fill the silence. "What do you mean?"    
  
He shook his head, looking at once very young and a thousand years old, having seen lifetimes of misery. "The spell he cast was supposed to weaken you, but it was also meant to be a catalyst for the  _ parabatai _ curse. But because the effects were already starting, it only strengthened the curse. The only thing I can do for Julian, if you don't want the curse to kill you both, is break your bond. But we both know - " he cut himself off when he saw her face.    
  
"Even if I heal his illness, it won't do him any good. The  _ parabatai _ curse will just destroy the both of you, Emma. I'm sorry. I think we need to call in the Clave." Magnus' eyes were sympathetic. Emma tried not to let show that she was falling apart on the inside. Julian stirred.   
  
"Over my dead body." Her parabatai was awake, and despite being propped up by pillows and having a nasty cough, he was unyielding, resolute, showing one of his few flashes of uncontrolled emotion.    
  
Pacing the room before, Emma stopped in her tracks, turning to him in anger. Her hands went to her hips, and she stormed over to the bed. "Look, Jules, I hate the Clave as much as you do, but we have no other choice. I get that you're going stir-crazy in here, but I didn't think that meant you'd lost your mind!"   
  
Exiting the room quietly, Magnus closed the door after a murmured "I'll leave the two of you alone now."   
  
"No, you're right, Em. I haven't lost my mind. But the kids need me. They need what's left of their family to stay together, not be torn apart while we're off to be examined and punished for... for some stupid Law!"    
  
Rage and terror swept through her like a storm, decimating all logic and reason, all other emotion that might have disagreed with her  _ parabatai _ . Every part of her thrummed with anxiety; every cell of her being wanted nothing more than to protect Julian, to agree with him, to keep lying to him and hide the only secret she'd ever kept from him. She swallowed. "I know what the  _ parabatai _ curse does, Julian. It isn't just some stupid Law. It's the worst thing you could ever imagine, and it's far worse than the kids being split up and sent all over to Institutes and it's worse than Helen being exiled. It's your worst nightmare, Jules."   
  
Once she'd finished, not pausing at all for fear she might never continue if she stopped, Emma crawled into bed next to Julian, and held his hand. Them against the world - no matter how they were together, they needed each other.    
  
"I love you," Julian whispered, and they were children in the dark, trying to fend off each other's demons. "I don't know who I am if I don't - I don't know  and I don't want to know who I would be if I didn't love you. I love the children. They are my life, Emma, and you - you are my heart. Only now, now you're telling me that I have to choose between my heart, and my life. If I choose you, we're going to die, and commit the worst crimes that anyone ever could. If I choose the children, we'll both be living these half-lives, ghosts of what we could have been. We'll know everything we could have had and we will never have it. Is that what you're saying, Emma?"    
  
"Don't you think I've  _ tried _ ?" Emma asked, with the hopelessness and desperation of someone starving, someone who knew they were going to die: fighting to live and knowing full they would not. "Do you think I could actually fall in love with Mark, with anyone except you? I'm in love with you Julian; we're in love and it's going to kill us."   
  
A silence fell over the two of them, thick as fog and full of just as many hidden things. "Are you mad?" she asked quickly, quietly, like the words had never been said. But Julian knew her, could see even the things about her she didn't want him to see. "Because I killed Malcolm, and now there's this curse - "   
  
"No," he said, resolutely, in that grown-up tone of his that allowed no other opinion. "You did what you had to do. If you hadn't killed him, I would have. For Tavvy, and for your parents.   
  
"Don't ever apologize for that." Julian reached over and clutched her hand; his was cool, but above it his wrist was warmer, and either way, even now, she found herself pulled to it, drawn to him, that simple touch not only bringing reassurance and comfort but dragging her over the edge of a desire she had been doing her best to stay away from. "You couldn't have known. Nothing you did was wrong."   
  
In the dark, a fear that had been encroaching on her mind like a looming shadow could be admitted to him, and she breathed in, breathed out, the sound of his breaths in sync with hers bringing her both peace and pain, then spoke. "I'm scared, sometimes, that all I can do now is hurt people. That after the war, all I can do is kill, and fight, and now, I did this to you - "   
  
When she stopped to take a breath, his fingers moved over her hand, travelled up her arm, and landed on her lips, leaving a streak of heat on her body that was dizzying; it seemed impossible that such small, seemingly insignificant contact, could leave her lightheaded and shrink her world down to the press of Julian's fingertips on her mouth. "You can do more than hurt, Emma. You can love."   
  
And then the hand touching her face became his mouth, and the moment became everything she'd missed and everything she'd done her best to stop wanting. It was too much; it was not enough. It was everything; there was nothing realer, nothing hotter, nothing in the world that made her feel more alive than this kiss.    
  
She seemed to suddenly be made of only nerves and senses, and all of them wanted Julian. Every part of her was against every part of him, and still every part of her - body, soul, heart - in her wanted more. Only - was there any more to give?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Now that you've finished reading this chapter, go back and read the first letter of every paragraph. ;)
> 
> Happy New Year! May you all succeed in your 2017 New Year's Resolutions and have a fabulous year! At least better than 2016 if that was bad for you (Democrat/liberal Americans, refugees, everyone involved in a natural disaster area) and God bless you!


	12. Your Laugh Echoes Down The Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Fluff in the face of a curse. Slice of life

Maybe it was because he'd spent the last five years of his life burying his heart in secrets and lies, in whispers of conversations and events that never came to light except when he told Emma - but when Julian was with her, it felt as if he'd crawled out of himself and become a part of her, two souls in perfect intimacy, open and exposed to each other in every possible way.

She kissed him, shoving his shirt over his head, her mouth hard on his, almost bruising as she fit her body to his, shoving him down onto the mattress. Julian groaned, fisting her hair in his hand, relishing in the feel of it, of her skin against his, her hair soft and covering her like a cloak as it fell free from her braid. She was wearing almost nothing, only a camisole and shorts, and the sight of her, all bare skin and dark Marks and silvery scars, made him feel as though he had not touched her in decades, centuries, though it had only been weeks. 

Julian drank her in.

Her hair was glowing against his dark blue sheets, absorbing the light of the setting sun that had slipped through his half-open curtains. The white fabric of her top was translucent, and she wore nothing beneath it. Emma made a small, pleased noise against his neck as he kissed his way down the soft skin of her throat, pressing his mouth along the lines of her collarbone, following the strap of her tank top before pushing it off of her shoulder. She was clutching at him, hands sliding down his bare back as he moved with her, bunching up the hem of her tank top, and easing it over her head.

He had never wanted to paint anything more than he wanted to paint this: Emma nude, splayed on his bed, the expression on her face one of love and trust, adoration and desire, strong enough to break him open, spill his secrets, tear out his heart. It wasn't only the beauty of her body, which was scarred and strong and responded to his touch like it was a live wire, but also that he _knew_ all the stories behind her scars, knew what she had done to make herself so strong she bordered on unbreakable, knew her like he knew himself and wanted her so badly.

:::

Maybe it was because she was so used to pain, but Emma felt the pleasure of the kiss like a wave, drowning her, sweeping her under so that she felt nothing but desire, nothing but the sweetness of the moment, nothing but the fire that consumed her, the urge to get as close to him as she could ever be.

"I love you," she whispered, staring up at him, his eyes luminous in the darkened room. "We didn't say it last time, but I'm telling you now: I love you."

"I love you," he murmured, and she heard the echoes of it in every move, every moan, every sigh: the way he kissed her, slow and sensual, the way he touched her, somehow managing to grip hard enough to leave marks and yet imprint upon her that he thought there was nothing more precious than her body against his.

Emma heard it when he came: moments after her, pressing his face against her neck with his hands in her hair, saying her name, over and over, like it was a prayer, like it was a lifeline, like it could save them both. She wrapped herself around him, connected in every possible way, and pretended it could.

They disentangled themselves after a moment, their hands touching, Julian throwing the sheets over their cooling skins.

"We're going to be okay," she said, firm, trying to take his role for once: the calm one, the one who told people that things were going to be all right and then proceeded to make it so.

"I know, Emma." His voice was tired, his eyes bleary, and she wondered if they were lying to each other. "I know."

:::

"Are you shaving?" Tiberius Blackthorn stood at the bathroom door, dressed in ratty jeans, headphones around his neck. 

Julian knew Ty's voice like the back of his hand, knew all the children's voices in that way, but he didn't think he'd ever heard Ty sound so... so confident, so authoritative, as though _he_ were the elder. It simultaneously warmed and broke his heart, the way the question he asked was one he knew the answer to already, and was patiently expecting.

"Yes, I am," Julian answered, putting down the razor. He knew Ty didn't like it when he had stubble, and since Emma had marked him with both the energy and endurance runes this morning - with a warning from Magnus to take it easy while he worked to reverse Malcolm's curse and its complications - he felt ready to get out of bed and back to routine. "Was there another reason you wanted to speak with me?"

"It's Friday," Ty replied, for once looking Julian in the eye. He got the sense that this moment was terribly important to Ty, and would break if handled improperly. "You always make pancakes on Friday, but - if you're not feeling up to it, Livvy and I could do it."

"Thank you for offering, Ty, and I do believe you and Livvy are more than capable of making pancakes, but - " he swallowed, watching Ty's face, felt the tension in their shared gaze. "I'm good. I'll make them, like always."

Tiberius nodded solemnly, and left the bathroom. The moment the door closed, Emma poked her head out from behind the brightly-printed shower curtain.

"What did Ty want?" she asked, but then she stepped out onto the rubber bath mat in only a skimpy pink towel and Julian forgot how to speak, his concentration narrowing to a fine point. Her blond hair fell to her waist, darkened and frizzy from the water, and he wanted nothing more than to coil it around his fingers and squeeze the moisture from it.

"Um..." He picked up the razor again, just to keep his hands to himself. "To see if I was going to make pancakes."

"Did you say yes?" she queried, reaching past him for a bottle of lotion. The air, already thick with steam, became pineapple-scented as she opened it and began applying it to her skin.

"I told him I would, yeah." Jules dropped the razor again and began brushing his teeth, filling a cup with water and wetting his toothbrush in it. It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe, and when he looked over at Emma's blurry outline in the fogged-up mirror, he felt like someone who'd been trying all their life to get warm and had suddenly stumbled upon a furnace: overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, and finding it was even better than he'd dreamed. 

"That's too bad," Emma said, interrupting his thoughts. "Because I was hoping you would be interested in helping me with something."

He spit out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth, and looked over at her. She was sitting on the counter, towel riding up her bare legs, and holding the lotion towards him, wearing a flirtatious grin, a look that spoke of longing and want and playfulness. 

Just as he was about to take the lotion from her and kiss her senseless, there was a knock at the door. "Can you hurry up in there, Jules?" _Livia_.

He fumbled his jeans on, doing his best not to watch Emma as she toweled her hair dry and threw on jeans and a tank top. The fact that it was last night's tank top did not help things. Finally, they opened the door, releasing humidity and a look of surprise on Livvy's face.

"Something I need to know?" she interrogating, raising a dark brow.

"Go find Ty" was all Julian said as he and Emma went down the hallway, off to see what Magnus had to say.


	13. Spreads Over The Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooding and pancakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Writer's block will do that to a person.

The great and powerful High Warlock Magnus Bane was currently standing in their kitchen, wearing ragged jeans and a T-shirt that probably belonged to Alec, since it was covered in baby spit-up rather than glitter and sported three holes, one by the collar and one on either sleeve. He gave Julian and Emma a knowing, exasperated look as they entered the kitchen holding hands, an expression equivalent to one throwing their hands up with a sigh and some loud proclamation.

Jules let go of her hand as he crossed the kitchen to the fridge, opening it and removing eggs, butter, and milk, before going into the pantry to retrieve flour and other pancake-making ingredients that Emma had never bothered to look too closely at. It was a normal morning in the Blackthorn household, Ty appearing to have forgiven Mark as he was sitting between Kit and his older brother, Livia and Tavvy surrounding Dru, who was gazing at Diego with cartoon hearts in her eyes. Diego was beside Cristina, and seemed not to notice or care about Drusilla's obvious admiration for him. Emma supposed he was used to it, being perfect and all.

The atmosphere was warm, homey, even with the addition of the ever-eclectic Magnus, who was viewing the domestic scene with some wistfulness. She wondered if he missed his own children with Alec Lightwood - Rafael, recently adopted at the age of ten, and Max, the navy-blue warlock child.

The first of the pancakes were up, and the Blackthorns scrambled for them, thrusting out soon-to-be-sticky plates and hopeful faces. Emma watched the incident with a smile, their voices and the sound of knife-scraping settling over her like a cozy blanket.   
Cristina was next to her, having stood up but not yet gone to get any pancakes, her arm pressed against Emma's as she leaned against the counter. "What's going on?"

In all the mess of tangled emotions and lies she'd been sorting through this past few weeks, Emma felt a twist of regret and guilt in her heart for not having kept her friend in the loop. "I'm sorry, I was going to tell you. It's just - this past few weeks have been really hard - "

Cristina stopped her with a kind smile. "I understand. He is your parabatai, and he has been sick. If it were my parabatai - " her smile was sadder, softer, but she continued, "If it were my parabatai, I would have done the same. Besides, I've seen the way you two look at each other, and you're happier than you've been in weeks."

"Thanks, Tina." She rested her head on the older girl's shoulder, keeping her voice low. "Well, Magnus is here because Julian and I - we're in love. And when parabatai fall in love, bad things happen. Julian got sick because of this curse that Malcolm put on the cave, that whoever killed him would suffer, but the curse rebounded on Jules. So now, Magnus is here to fix that."

"And you're sure he can do that?" Cristina asked, a furrow between her dark, carefully drawn brows.

"I hope so," Emma replied, as she and Cristina took the last of the pancakes.

They were as delicious as usual, soft and fluffy, drenched in syrup and butter. Forgoing the knife, she cut her pancakes with her fork in a hurry, in comparison to Cristina's more ladylike method of using both her utensils to slice her breakfast into neat triangles before bringing them to her mouth. Cristina managed to look both horrified and fond as she regarded Emma's complete lack of table manners. "Are you even chewing?" she wondered.

She swallowed with some difficulty. "Do you really want to know the answer to that?"

"You don't," Julian interjected cheerfully, coming from behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder. He gave her a look, and she swallowed the final bite of her pancake and followed him out of the kitchen, where Magnus had insinuated himself.

:::

Cristina watched Emma and Julian, the way she had when the Blackthorns had come back from London, another Friday not so long ago. She'd glimpsed the connection between them, one of parabatai, of what she herself might never have, but also one of love, of longing, of desires barely hidden. Now, it was out in the open and she wondered how she could have missed it.

Every time one of them made a move it was perfectly attuned to the other's; they were two instruments that had worked side by side for so long that they played in perfect harmony. From her position, viewing them through a crack on the door, she couldn't hear their conversation, but she could see their movements. Julian shifted slightly, edged forward to shield Emma's body with his own even though there was no visible threat. She wondered what they were talking about.

Emma's expression changed, anger crossing her face. She shouted something at Julian, and Cristina assumed it was in response to his protective measure, probably saying that she could take care of herself. What could Julian possibly want to protect her from? Malcolm was gone, and this curse - it was definitely the curse.

With a sigh, Cristina started piling dishes into the sink, hoping Emma wouldn't leave her in the dark again. Just then, her friend stormed into the room. Emma's parabatai, however, was not with her. "You okay?" Cristina prodded her in concern. She supposed that even instruments in perfect harmony could be out of tune on occasion.

"I'm fine. I'll help you with the dishes," answered the younger girl, not looking Cristina in the eye as she hastily wiped at her face.

"Okay." She moved over to let Emma work with her, anxiety thrumming in her chest. "Would you mind telling me what that was about?"

"The stupid curse," Emma said with a sigh. "Magnus told us that if one of us is enough danger, it would strengthen the parabatai curse even more. Then maybe it would be strong enough to cut the parabatai bond."

"And let me guess, Julian is totally against you being your usual reckless danger-loving self?" Cristina teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yep." The two worked in silence for a while, brooding and tension as palpable as steam.

Cristina just hoped that what had driven Emma and Julian apart was worth it.


	14. Illuminated In The Light

"Emma."

She turned towards the door of the training room, and found Mark. She hadn't heard his footsteps coming in; she supposed he had kept that silent-footed step from the Hunt.

"Mark," Emma greeted.

"Well met," he said.

It was a faerie greeting. He was hiding something, holding something back. She nodded, resisting the urge to point out that they'd met multiple times before.

"Did you come here to talk about something?" she asked, continuing her sparring with a punching bag, the thuds and jabs the only noise in the room.

"Yes." His voice was tense, aristocratic. "If you would be so kind as to…."

She stopped beating up the sandbag, and put her hands on her knees, drawing in deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her heart was pounding.

"Speak, then."

"You're in love with my brother." There was no doubt in his voice, no confusion. He was certain, something he had not been since he'd come back from the Hunt, broken and disoriented. As though everything else were chaos and this one fact, her and Julian's love, was the eye of a storm. "You and Julian - I was wrong. You aren't just parabatai, he's not just my boring, responsible little brother to you. He's the love of your life."

"That he is. Thanks for talking to me, Mark." She felt herself smile, despite everything that had already happened. "Now I don't have to have an awkward confrontation with you."

"You're welcome," he answered. "Although I still believe you have some answers for me."

Emma, caught up in all her angst and jubilation, felt a sudden frisson of guilt. She owed him answers, uncomfortable as they may be. "I think I do. Come to my room; we can talk there."

He followed her down the hall, and waited outside the door while she changed out of her training gear into jeans and a faded, vintage t-shirt with unicorns on it. "Ask me anything."

"You wanted me to lie for you. Why?" His back was to her as he closed the door while she was sprawled out on her bed.

"Julian and I - we couldn't be together. Not just because it's illegal, because there's this awful curse involved. But I knew we were in love, and the only way for him to stop believing that was if I told him that I loved you. You're the only thing that could hurt him - his only weakness." The words tumbled out of her in a rush.

"No," Mark said with a sad sort of smile. "You are his weakness, too."

"Well - you don't know him," she said with a frustrated sigh. "Not anymore. This Julian, he's not the same as five years ago. I could never have fallen in love with him five years ago. He's - so much of him is hidden away, so that he can be strong for the kids. He can't have any vulnerabilities, but he told me once, that me being in love with you - that would be his. That's why I wanted you to pretend with me, so that he would stop being in love with me. So I could break his heart."

"His heart and yours," Mark said gently, sorrowfully. He seemed several millennia old, both ageless and innocent, the way Fae were. "Why are you together now, then, if the curse is so terrible?"

As she spoke the words, she knew them to be true, even if it was a horrible thing to say. "The curse isn't as bad as being without him."

"Then tell me you have found a way to solve this conundrum, Emma. Because I did not get my family back just to watch you break it apart." Mark got up and left as quietly as he had come, leaving her reeling.

:::

The ocean lapped against the shore, as constant as ever. It would keep on going, keep on with its ebb and flow, its crash and break of waves, no matter what happened. It could cause pain and tragedy, sweep people under its force and trap them and drown them, but it could also be a source of great beauty. And no matter how many times Julian painted it, the sea always looked different from any angle at any time of day.

The ocean, he thought, was a lot like Emma. Powerful, beautiful, reckless, careless, and always, always there. Only now, now she might not be - Raziel, the it hurt to form that thought - there. Now, she might sacrifice herself, might throw herself to the demons for their love. Love was important - it was nearly everything - but her life, Emma's life, was worth more. He would rather have her alive and happy with Mark rather than dead because of some plan gone awfully wrong.

"You can't do it, Emma," he said, hearing footsteps on the sand behind him, sensing her presence like a relief, like an amplifier of all his senses: her being here made him feel stronger, better, more attuned to the world around him. "I won't let you."

Emma didn't answer, just sat down on the sand behind him and clutched his hand. She stretched her bare legs out so that her toes nearly touched the ocean. Sand clung to her skin in damp clumps.

They had been children, once, sitting here in the sand, playing games and splashing each other. That felt like a thousand years ago.

Emma finally spoke. "You don't have to. I'm doing it anyways."

"Em, please-"

"'There is nothing more important than love, and no Law higher,'" she quoted. "You told me that once. Don't you believe it?"

"I wouldn't care if you love Mark!" He burst out. "I wouldn't care, as long as you were alive, and happy. I wouldn't care."

"I wasn't alive, or happy." She looked him in the eye, forced him to see that truth. "I was dying, I was the most unhappy I've ever been in my life. I was dying. I was happy with you - I am so happy with you - and you're saying you can't deal with that?"

"I don't live if you die." He held her gaze. "I don't know how to be Julian Blackthorn without Emma Carstairs, I really don't."

"I know, Jules." Her voice softened, gold melting over steel. "But you won't lose me. You won't."

"I don't know that!" He shouted. Something tore in him. Something broke, and he wasn't sure he could fix it, or if he even wanted to. "I can't control that - I can't control everything - "

"You don't have to." For once, Emma did not know him better than anyone else did, had not tied herself, her heart and soul and her morals and principles to his, so tightly that they were one and the same. For once, she was wrong about him. "What if you told me not to get revenge on my parents? Not to hunt down their killer, or make my wall of crazy, what then?"

"This is different."

"There's no difference!" She snapped. "You've never been like this about me being in danger, before."

"This time, I can't save you. This time, you won't let me save you - "

"I can handle myself!" Her words knocked him down, shattered his convictions, left him bare and ashamed. "I can handle myself, and you know that. That's not the problem. I think that deep down, you don't think we're worth it. Deep down, you don't believe that our love is worth it, is worth this - me, risking my life."

"Emma, that's not - "

"Yes, it is." Her eyes were hard and steely. Colder than he'd ever seen them. "And when you realise that, come find me."

She left him on the beach, alone.


	15. And I Was Singing

"You were wrong."

Three words. Not at all what Emma had wanted to hear. But they were Julian's, and so they burrowed into her mind, crept under her skin, carried through her bloodstream and pierced her heart. She turned around, arms folded across her chest, not backing down.

"You were wrong, Emma." He stood at the door, clutching the frame so tightly that his knuckles were white as the snow that never fell in LA, as white as ashes. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but you were wrong. If you do this, I'd be putting you in danger. I'd be enabling you, I'd be letting you get hurt. It's not that I don't think our relationship is worth it - Raziel, sometimes it's the only good part of my day - but  it goes against everything I am, to let you go and try to kill yourself."

His words were a stele, inking indelible runes into her skin, trying to imprint their message onto her body, imploring her to listen, to understand. And she did, she really did - because they were parabatai, and she felt everything that he did.

"But what's the alternative, Julian? I can't live like this - I can't live, knowing that if we keep going on like this, we'll destroy everything around us. The kids, Julian, think of them. This is our chance to make things right, to have everything we've ever wanted. We have to take the risk. I trust us. I trust you with my life, I trust you to be able to save me no matter what happens."

She had faith in revenge, and Julian. That was enough for her, was all she needed to subsist on - love. And she knew that was how he felt about art, and her, and the children, like they were his whole life.

Emma stepped forwards. "I'm going to do this no matter what, but it would be a lot easier with my parabatai at my side."

Julian swallowed; she could see doubt and hope shining in his ocean-coloured eyes, and knew only one of them would win out. He took a step closer to her, and then spoke. They were words she knew by heart, words she had cherished and despised in equal measure, and she said them in unison with him. "Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee - for whither thou goest, I will go, and whither thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou die, I will die, and there I will be buried. The Angel do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me."

"Thank you." She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, felt tears stain his shirt. "Thank you."

:::

The ocean lay before her, both threat and promise churning in its blue-black waters. Sooner or later, beneath the star-studded night sky, Emma would have to fling herself in.

You're going to be fine, said Julian's voice in her head. Steadying, soothing as always, tempering her anxiety. I'm with you. I'll be with you the whole time.

With his words in her ears, she plunged into the ocean. Freezing water engulfed her, and she resisted the urge to find a stele and draw a warming rune. Sea creatures unseen and unknown drifted past her, brushed her skin, caught in her hair, only made her more determined to press her lips together and not let any air escape. But she didn't - instead, Emma released it, felt oxygen flee her lungs as rapidly as she wanted to escape the sea. She sunk, not catching herself, allowed the tide to pull her deeper into the ocean, where it was colder and darker and more terrifying. Fear was paralyzingly her, and she kept the thought of Julian - his voice, his smile, his hands, any part of him - close to the front of her mind to keep from going insane.

Pretty soon, she would sink deeper. Pressure would force every ounce of air from her lungs. Without oxygen, her brain would stop working, she would take in water, and Emma would drown, as she had in a thousand nightmares, and her body would float to the surface. But that wouldn't happen. Julian would save her. He would find her, save her, and this would end the way it had begun: on the beach, in waterlogged clothing, both of them having almost died for completely different reasons.

She made herself not resist, made herself let go. It was just like falling in the training room, just like jumping from the Institute's roof; she didn't need anyone to catch her. She would fall, and break, and fix herself.

But no matter what, Julian would always be there - not to catch her, but to help her back up. This was just like those times, she told herself as she sunk.

:::

The air was perfectly still.

No salty ocean breeze stirred it; no breath blew through it; not a sound was made. It was just Emma, alone, in an empty room.

She was dry, her clothes plain black Shadowhunter gear, not the jeans and t-shirt that she donned earlier. What had she been doing earlier? She couldn't remember.

Suddenly, behind her, came a voice. "Emma Cordelia Carstairs."

She recognized it suddenly as Jem's, his soothing baritone loud and reverberating in the small space.

"Jem!" She made move to hug him, but something stopped her.

"Do you know what you are doing, Emma?" His voice, his face, his body, was perfectly neutral, composed, blank.

"No," she replied honestly.

"And yet you would do it anyways? Step into the unknown, risk everything that you know, for the sake of your parabatai?"

"It's not a question," she said, and it wasn't. There was no other conceivable choice than this one, the one that had brought her here, to this strange place, with Jem.

"I see." He nodded solemnly. "Remember that, in the end. Remember that it was not a choice, that it was not a question. Hold onto that thought, and you may succeed still."

She opened her mouth, just about to ask him what he meant by that, when water rushed into it, cold and bitter and unforgiving.

She had no strength to force it out. Saltwater filled her lungs. Emma was drowning, but she opened her arms, and embraced it.


	16. DRIVE

Emma's head broke the surface of the sea, white froth churning around her shoulders as she treaded water. She needn't have struggled, really—the magnet-like pull, the irresistible tug dragging her towards the stretch of sand ahead of her, was movement enough. She could have let herself follow it, but she was Emma Carstairs, and she didn't - wouldn't - allow herself to be blindly pushed to her fate.

Her upper arm burned where the parabatai rune was - or had been. One of those. She was too scared - no, not too scared, Emma Carstairs did not get scared -  too busy to check. As she reached the shore, the ocean's roar faded in her ears; everything was muted except for the pain in her arm, and she gritted her teeth, flopping facedown on the sand. Footsteps kicked small puffs of sand into her wet shirt; her lower half, legs encase in jeans, was still covered by the rising tide.

Some old, primal, elemental part of Emma panicked as water came over her head. Her arms throbbed in agony, and she could feel every injury, every scar and whip weal burning like they'd been doused in acid. Her muscles ached with exhaustion; she spluttered as water began to fill her nose. She was going to drown, and die -

"Emma!" Julian's voice cut through the haze of ocean and frenzy, as his hands took hold of her and turned her over, pulling her out of the water.

The pain in her arm was gone, like it had never been there, vanished like morning mist once the sun came out. Her shirt was torn at the shoulder, showing a faded parabatai mark, she noted with a sort of numb joy, as an afterthought, really, because the way Jules was looking at her made her want to glue herself to his side and never leave him again.

"Emma," he said again, less of a call this time, more like reverent praise. "Emma."

The third time he spoke her name, it was next to her skin, sand against his mouth, his lips on her pulse point like he was trying to keep her heart beating and he could do it by kissing her. His eyes were ocean-coloured, that she'd always known, but now he was the ocean, surrounding her. She'd fallen into him. His body was everywhere at once, engulfing her in scent and warmth and vivid sensation.

He was Julian, everything she needed to be when she couldn't be. Polite when she didn't want to be, keeping secrets she would have spilled, making her happy when she had forgotten how to be. Her family, her best friend, her best love. All she could think to say was, "You've said my name three times now, Jules. Was there something you wanted from me?"

She felt him smile against her neck as he clutched her to him. They were the same height like this, with her sitting on his lap. Close enough to kiss.

"I was going to ask you," Julian said slowly, his mouth touching her, searing her, with each syllable. "If this felt familiar."

"Hmm," Emma out her hand on her chin, elbow on his shoulder, pretending to be in deep thought. "You pulling me out of the ocean, us in wet clothes on the beach, very close to each other? No, I can't say that feels familiar."

"Too bad," he said cheekily, lifting his head from her throats to look at her with a carefree grin that embodied everything she loved about him. "I guess I'll have to jog your memory."

It was not too bad. It wasn't bad at all.

:::

The trip back to the Institute was as ordinary it could get.

Emma had her feet propped on the dashboard, Julian drove precariously close to the speed limit, and the radio station was being fiddled with at an annoying pace. It was everything he loved about their life together, a perfect snapshot of the reasons he didn't regret becoming Emma's parabatai.

Julian felt at once lighter and heavier, relieved of one burden to have it replaced by another. His heart was breaking open, yet healing, wrapping tightly and sealing around the love that threatened to burst it. Emma's hand was in his, and he lifted it to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles, the back of her hand, the scars that glowed white in the Los Angeles sunshine.

Emma was happy - he could tell that, even with her face turned away, even without the parabatai bond holding their emotions together like beads on a string. He hadn't needed the parabatai bond for anything but cleaving her to him, and Julian had realized that a long time ago, the very moment they'd spoken the words that would allegedly bind them together for the rest of their lives.

And Julian also knew that this didn't change anything. They were in love, but he was in love with his best friend. There would be passion and longing, as well as teasing and laughter. They would be equal partners in everything, would always have each others' backs. There would be no love quite like theirs, the one that had passed through every kind and retained all of them, whether it was romantic or platonic or familial. He would always feel every kind of love for Emma, would always seek to protect her in every single way.

The sky was above them, the sea stretching far ahead. Their future was unknown - but he knew it was bright.

Julian stepped out of the car, Emma at his side, and they walked towards the Institute, where their family was waiting. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> (Unless you want more. Comment below if you want more!)


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